


Battle Scars

by hammy_ham



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Military, World War II
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-19
Updated: 2018-06-21
Packaged: 2019-04-04 11:50:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14019612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hammy_ham/pseuds/hammy_ham
Summary: The year is 1941. Alexander Hamilton hears through the radio in his partners bedroom, that president Roosevelt has officially declared war on Japan. Alexander would be shipped off to Europe before the New Year, leaving everyone he loved behind.





	1. Bombs

John was diagnosed with polio in late 1938. I remember being with him at the hospital when news began coverage of the war in Europe. The older doctors and patients wept in their offices and rooms, knowing there was no way to stop the US from getting involved in the conflict. John and I worried for the future. We both knew there would be no way in hell John would be drafted. He begged me not to go, but I was twenty-four, and no able bodied man could stop the draft.

I told John that everything would be okay, that he just needed to focus on getting better. I told him that this was Europe's war, and there was no way the US would ever get involved. President Roosevelt wouldn't send his boys off to die if he didn't have to. 

The newspaper kept us updated us on what was going on. This whack job Hitler over in Germany had some weird policies. There were rumors of labor camps popping up all around Poland, and Jews were being segregated? Most people didn't believe it at the time. We had no reason to believe human beings could do the things in our near future. We couldn't imagine the brutal execution of six million innocent people.

We were surprised to find out that even Japan was getting involved. Another Great War was on the horizon. By the time the 40's rolled around, the conflict had increased dramatically. Tensions were rising in England. The Prime Minister hadn't gotten involved, and they were going to swear in this guy named Winston Churchill. In the meantime, John's polio slowly got worse. But no one knew at that point. He wasn't allowed to even stand.

It was 1941. They claimed they couldn't do anything for John, so they sent us home. They claimed that he was one of the older polio patients, and they needed to save the iron lungs for the infected children. I didn't know it then, but John had accepted his fate. He was slowly deteriorating throughout the year, and when Japan attacked us, and Roosevelt declared war on Japan, he could hardly get out of his bed.

I had to take him to another hospital when I got my letter, calling me to duty. There was no way he could stay by himself, and the hospital in our town wouldn't take him back. I remember he clutched my hand the whole way there, begging for me not to leave him alone. I promised him that I'd survive, just for him. I'd fight for **him.** I don't think he believed me. 

We said our goodbyes after they checked him in, and I made my way to basic training. I told him to write to me everyday, to update me on his condition. I would write him whenever I could, describing the sunsets you can only see from the coasts of the English Channel. 

I sat down in the back of the taxi on the way to the airport, and I remember wondering if I'd ever see my love again.


	2. Letters

The weather was fucking awful. The rain poured on, seemingly everywhere I went. At least that's what I told John in my letters. I didn't tell him that the rain was Nazi bullets, and that I was fighting in the middle of France instead of keeping watch on the shores of England. I couldn't make him more terrified than he already was. He wrote back to me telling me what he saw. He told me the hospital security came in and escorted a newly discharged Japanese family out the door. That was the new norm back home. After Pearl Harbor Japanese Americans became the new enemy. Even the other soldiers in my unit ran around saying they should be shot on sight.

General Washington was my commander. He was an older gent, and often told us abut his service in the first Great War. Maybe it's because I was one of the youngest in the unit, but he told me after the war that he saw himself in me, and that's why he was never as hard on me as the other soldiers. I remember being angry with him when he admitted it to me. There was this other Private, Thomas Jefferson, that led the harassment. To him and his gang, I was just a faggot that ran to daddy when things got rough.

I remember when the bombing started. It was late that night, and most of us were sleeping in our makeshift barracks. I remember being woken up t the sound of planes overhead, and the whistle of falling bombs. The ground shook as one of the barracks at the end of the camp exploded, and screams filled the air. I grabbed my rifle from under my bed, and sprinted out the door, desperate to find the General. 

I heard a familiar scream behind me, and I turned around to see Jefferson on the ground, clutching the stump of his former left leg. I watched as two medics tried to put out the fire around him so the could drag him onto the stretcher. I only saw him once after that. He was covered in burns, and completely passed out. Washington told us he killed himself not long after he was sent home. 

John caught me in my lie. He knew I was under General Washingtons command, and he saw the story about the bombings in the newspaper. I felt his rage in the letter, I felt his terror. He addressed the letter to Washington, begging him to help get my body back home safe. I remember the pity in his eyes as he handed my the letter. I wrote back as quickly as I could, doing my best to show him I was alive. I told him I was sorry, and I promised to be home safe and sound.

The intensity of the fighting just kept growing. They sent different units back to England, and I remember hearing the Generals in our camp talking about some secret plan to bomb the Nazi troops on the beaches of Normandy. I thought they were crazy. There was no way in hell that they could be so stupid to send troops into battle when they had the low ground. It was a damn suicide mission. 

I didn't think the day would come when Washington came into out barrack, shouting at us to pack our bags. I remember the look of sadness he gave me as he announced that we were headed for England.


	3. Normandy

I never thought this would happen to me. I was cramped into a boat, clutching my rifle and the cross around my neck. Someone in front of me vomited onto the deck, and the man next to me couldn’t keep himself from crying. It was all too quiet. The waves rocked us back and forth under the rain, soaking us to the bone, chilling us to the core. My boat was towards the back of the fleet, so we weren’t anywhere near the shore as the bullets started flying. The screams of the men from other units echoed through the waves, and it only grew louder when the explosions started. 

We really didn’t know what we were in for. The second the wall dropped, men fell dead. I remember feeling a kick in the back as a young man frantically tried to climb over the wall to hide. I remember his body falling limp into the water, and the blood from the bullet wound splattering me. I dove for the floor trying not to throw up. Explosions came closer and closer, sending sand crashing on top of us. One hit the water, right next to the boat, and capsized us. The next thing I knew I was swimming in an ocean filled with corpses of former friends and comrades. 

Maybe it was fear, maybe rage, but I found myself ready to kick some Nazi ass. I swam with full power towards the shoreline, dodging the bodies of the fallen. General Washington was crouching behind a barricade, screaming commands into a radio. I watched a grenade land no more than thirty feet in front of him, and watched as he was blown back toward the water. I started running towards him despite every fiber of my being screaming not to. I got only a few feet before I collapsed, a sharp pain shooting up my thigh. I didn’t have anytime to react before, **BANG** an explosion blew me back, and rendered me unconscious in the sand. 

I woke up after the battle in a makeshift medical tent. A young woman was over me attempting to fix the bandages that had been hastily wrapped around my chest. My whole body aches and burned, and I flinched at her slightest touch. The most vivid memory was the panic I felt after realizing I couldn’t feel my legs. The nurse had to hold me down until I was still. I looked down against my better judgement, and from under the blanket I could tell my right leg was significantly shorter than the other. They had to amputate just above the knee. The other was slashed and burnt enough that it would heal over time. They told me that, at least for the time being, I wouldn’t be able to walk again. 

I wrote to John the second I could sit up. I knew he’d panic when the death count reached the papers. He’d probably already sent something to Washington asking if there had been anymore attacks with casualties. I frantically gave the nurse my letter, and desperately looked around for the General.


	4. Amputee

I don’t know what I expected to find on my search for the General, but what I found was horrific. Washington had bandages around his head, and several IVs dangling from the bent and broken metal pole. He looked angry, struggling to sign the endless sheets of paperwork on his cot. He looked over when he saw me get up. 

He moved the paper from his lap, and I heard him swear as he stood up, reaching for his crutch and IV post. He shuffled over and grunted as he sat down on the empty bed next to mine. 

“Didn’t think you were gonna pull through,” he said with a tiny chuckle. “You were out for a few days. How’s the leg?” 

I cast a glance down at the blanket covering what was left of my lower body. 

“I...don’t know,” I said quietly. “It’s just...numb. Maybe it’s just all the pain meds.” I chuckled. I knew the next few days wouldn’t end well. I could already feel the dull ache from the bullet wound match with the beating of my heart. 

Washington told me the battle stats. We won, we took the beach, and they were still counting the dead. He figured this was one of the deadliest battles yet. He told me he already had to sign over eighty condolence forms, and he kept getting more and more as the day went on. 

I hadn’t gotten a letter from John in weeks. His last one seemed rushed and sloppy, like he was on a time constraint. I figured it was probably him getting rushed into a treatment. 

They told me they were going to continue my treatment back home. I said goodbye to Washington, before they loaded me and several other wounded onto a boat bound for America. 

They didn’t have enough pain killers on the boat. Within days, the sounds of moans and screams filled the bowels of the ship. It took all my strength not to scream through the searing pain in both of my legs. Eventually, it was too much. My vision blurred and next thing I knew, I had three people holding me down onto the bed. 

I woke up drowning in sweat. A nurse and a few deck workers were suddenly in front of me, telling me how we made it back home. Before I could even process what was happening, the deck workers hoisted me up and put me onto a stretcher. They carried me off the ship as I floated in and out of consciousness, and put me in the back of an ambulance. Next thing I knew, I woke up in the hospital.


End file.
